Wanna Bet?
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: If there's one thing The Undertaker doesn't take lightly, it's losing. A follow-up to "When I Look At You". *Warning: Contains m/m relationship between siblings. Brotherly love. Once again, get it while it's hot.*


**Wanna Bet?**

"I can't believe this! I just cannot _fucking_ believe this!"

"Lower your voice," grumbles Kane. "There are kids around."

He motions down the aisle where there's a woman with a little boy and girl hanging onto either side of her shopping cart. The woman looks cross, the little girl looks confused, and the boy is too busy playing with his Pokemon to even notice us. I attempt an apologetic smile but from the deepening of her frown and the deeper shade of crimson on her face, I get the feeling I've failed. Miserably.

Well, screw you, lady!

"Aren't you the Undertaker?" the little girl asks.

I'll be damned… The kid can't be older than six if she's a day. "Yeah... And this is my brother Kane."

Kane's busy kneeling on the floor, rifling through the bottom shelves. He's left his mask back at the hotel, so he's wearing a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt.

I've tried to tell him he doesn't need the disguise. The burns he suffered are only on half of his face and the scarring isn't as bad as he thinks. If Marilyn Manson has no qualms about going out in broad daylight the way he does, then neither should Kane. It's not like the townsfolk will break out the pitchforks and flaming torches.

His usual response to this comment is to distract me with sex. Which only works one hundred percent of the time.

Kane gives the girl a distracted wave as he searches for his item.

"Hey, Bobby! Look!" She whacks the boy with a Malibu Barbie. I'll take odds she's the older sibling. "It's the Undertaker and Kane!"

Young Bobby tears himself away from his pocket monster, looks me up and down, and remarks, "So what? Wrestling's fake."

Like he's gonna find a real Pikachu.

"I don't care," says the girl. "They're awesome and I want an autograph." She jumps off the side of the cart, only to be held back by her mother.

"I don't think so, Lizzie," says dear old Mom. "Those men look busy."

I can tell from her tone that what she means is, "Those men look _crazy_."

I take a step forward. "Not a problem, ma'am. We've always got time for our littlest fans." Actually, I just want to put off what Kane's got planned. This is the last time I gamble against my brother. "Have you got a pen and some paper?"

"She's got some in her purse!" Lizzie offers. She frantically shakes her mother. "Get it, Mom! Get it, get it, get it!"

Pen and paper produced, I sign it, then hand it down to Kane.

Lizzie asks, "Do you relly know Triple H?"

"Yeah." I hand her the pad. I hope she doesn't ask me for his address or anything strange like that.

"Do you like him?"

"Not really."

Smiling, she says, "Me, neither."

_Now_ I'd like to give her his address. Maybe she could send him a chain letter.

Having obtained the precious autographs, the mother wheels her children down the aisle and around the corner.

"Cute kid," I muse aloud. "Obviously has good taste."

"Because she likes us?" Kane inquires. "Or because she hates Triple H?"

"Both."

Kane climbs to his feet. "Found what we need." He places the abominable objects in the basket. I can hardly bring myself to look at them. "Let's go."

Following glumly behind him, I grumble, "I can't fucking believe this…"

~*~*~

"You lost the bet." Kane drops the little plastic baggie of doom onto his bed. "Time to pay the piper."

"I just don't see why you had to buy a camera." It was one of those disposable jobs they hang right by the cash register.

"Simple," he says. "Photographic evidence. Besides, I want to be able to treasure the moment when you lost and I won."

"Because they're so few and far between?" That outghta wipe the smug look off his face. "How are you going to get them developed, anyway? Not like you can drop them off at Wal-mart. They have a very strict policy."

Kane dumps out the goods. My stomach drops to my knees.

"I know a guy."

_What the fuck?!_

"What guy?" If Kane knows some dude experienced with handling… sensitive material, then I damn sure want to know the details.

"Don't worry," he says. Like him telling me not to worry is going to make me not worry. Actually, it does the opposite. I've got a number of things to worry about. Starting with the objects littering Kane's bed. "These pics won't end up on the internet or anything. It's just a private matter."

Private matter? Was that a joke? A horrible joke at the expense of my privates? There is nothing humorous about that area or this situation!

"I don't wanna do this. I am _not_ doing this."

His icy blue stare pins me to the spot. "You _are_ doing this. You're doing this 'cause you swore you would. You're doing this 'cause you lost the bet. And finally, you're doing this _because I said so_! Now, strip!"

He doesn't have to get so loud about it. I was just venting my frustrations about the situation. Besides, he knows better than to raise his voice to me. I'll knock his ass back to last Christmas in a heartbeat. The only reason I'm taking my clothes off is I want to get this damn thing over with.

Naked, I walk into the bathroom. Kane, with his bundle of evil, is a few steps behind me.

"Isn't there another way we could do this?" I'm not whining. I am simply requesting extra options.

Kane stops up the sink and lets the hot water flow into the bowl. "First you get bent out of shape over someone else seeing the photographs and now you want to get a professional involved?"

"It's a reasonable alternative."

"Not in my world, so you're just going to have to trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"You've done this before?" That's a story I'd like to hear. Along with the one about the guy who may be developing these pictures.

Determining the water has reached an adequate temperature, he shuts off the taps. Kane takes the camera out of its cardboard container, removes the plastic wrap, and says, "How about a 'Before' picture? Give us a smile."

"Go to Hell."

"Brave thing to say before a haircut."

One week. One week was all I had to do without that damn chewing tobacco. I like it, he hates it, which only makes me like it more. Some would call that being contrary. I call it being the Undertaker.

So, I get challenged by my runt of a brother to go one week without the chewing tobacco. And I agree because I'm me and I never back down from a challenge.

How could I have known the bastard would have spies everywhere? It's not like I set out intending to cheat. I simply intended to win, using any means available.

Long story short: He caught me, I lost, and not only do I have to give up the chew permanently, I have to lose a bit of my manhood to boot.

Spots float in front of my eyes as the flash fades away. Scrolling over to the next frame, he takes another shot. This one's vertical.

"Are you cold?"

"I will kill you."

"Stop it," Kane orders. He places the camera beside the rest of his paraphernalia. Gently, he wraps his hand around me. I grow hard at his touch. The boy's got me trained. "I won't hurt you. And we'll both benefit from this. Now, relax and let me make you look good."

I lean forward. "Kiss first."

His lips curve into the sexy-sweet smile that wet dreams are made of. "Yes, sir."

Our kiss is deep, but all too brief. Before we can get carried away, Kane departs.

He takes the can of shaving cream in his hand and gives it a shake. "I fucking love you."

The cream is cold against my skin and I do my damnedest not to yelp.

This is crazy! He's crazy and I'm crazy for letting him do this!

My eyes stay fixed on his face. There's no need for them to venture south. For once, nothing good is going on down there.

I tuck a lock of hair behind Kane's ear. His face is dented by concentration. I can't for the life of me imagine what's running through his brain. If the shoe were on the other foot, I'd have sent him off to one of those spas to get waxed or left him to his own devices. I sure as hell wouldn't be doing it myself.

I guess that's the difference between him and me.

My fingers trail down the side of his face. The side with the scars. He smacks my hand away.

"Concentrating here."

"Promise me you'll never die."

He pauses in his application. "Where the hell did that come from?"

You'd be surprised the funny things you think of when you're about to have a razor to your pubes. "You and I are one of a kind. Well, two of a kind, I suppose. Point is, you're the only one that gets me."

"'Puts up with you' is more like it."

"_Point is_, you're my brother and you're all I've got and you're the only person who would shave off my pubes for non-monetary or non-medical purposes."

Kane tilts his head to the side. "Are we having a moment?"

"I think so."

"Is it over yet?"

"I think so."

Razor out of its package, Kane wets it in the bowl of water before dropping to his knees. Under normal circumstances, having Kane kneeling before me leads to good things. Fucking _marvelous_ things. However, these circumstances, much like my brother, are not normal.

"I will give you ten thousand dollars if you stop right now."

The chilly press of steel against my nether regions is the only response.

In my mind, I know this procedure will be quick and painless. In my mind, I know Kane is taking extra care to prevent any injury. That doesn't stop the images of him coming at my dick with a four-foot-long machete.

The only thing keeping me in place – aside from the sharp edge of the razor – is the warmth of Kane's hands. Gently cupping and repositioning me to get the best angle. I try to keep in mind that he's not enjoying this. It's simply a task to him.

Surprisingly, I'm the one enjoying it. Because he's touching me. It's not the usual stroke and fondle I've come to expect. Nonetheless, I'm harder than college-level calculus.

I'm about to ask him if this is normal when he climbs to his feet.

"All done," Kane proclaims.

"What?"

"I'm finished. Take a look."

The area is bare. Not a hair to be found. Even my happy trail is gone.

"Touch it."

It's as smooth as… well, as the days before puberty.

This is too bizarre!

Still feeling my newly-hairless region, I inform him, "I hope you realize that is not happening again. That was a one-time deal."

Kane just shrugs as he cleans the razor. "I think it makes you look bigger."

Like that's gonna make a lick of difference. "Really?"

"Yeah… I can see more of it. Before, it was hidden by the hair."

"You know… It _does_ look bigger… Except… I still have this problem…"

"What?"

I grasp a handful of myself and wave it at him. "I'm hard."

"With you shaking it like that, I'm not surprised."

That evil, heartless prick!

Eyes imploring, I whisper, "Hate me all you want. Just don't be cruel to Little Marcus."

A bark of laughter bursts from his lips. "First of all, naming your penis is a sign of mental instability. Second, _he's_ not little."

"Damn right he's not."

"And lastly, I'm not a mind reader. So you're going to have to tell me what you want."

"I have to tell you?"

"Yes." Again with that sexy-sweet smile. "Say it."

"You're a freak."

"And you love me. So say it."

I don't know how I got blessed or cursed with this man but… "I want you to suck me."

Licking those sinfully soft lips, he growls, "Yes, sir."

He slowly sinks to his knees, his eyes locked on mine. I can't look away. I don't want to miss a second of this. And he knows this. Knows how to spear me with those bright blue eyes as he takes me in.

It starts with his lips. Always the lips. Back and forth across them with the head of my cock. Then along the side of my shaft. All the way down to the base, where he places the faintest of kisses.

Delicate and thorough. That's my Kane.

The tip of his tongue flickers against my skin as he strokes me. There at the very bottom, at the very root of me. I curse and shiver, grabbing the edge of the sink for support. I want to be in his mouth. Surrounded by his moist heat.

I tell him just that. "Suck me… In your mouth…"

He moves his head further back. My breath catches in my throat as he engulfs my sac. He's never done that before. Sucking in one nut before switching to the other. A familiar pressure builds in my belly. I don't want to come this way. I need to be in his mouth. Down his throat.

Desperately holding back the rising tide, I moan, "Suck my cock… I wanna come in your mouth…"

His blue eyes are there again, back in front of me. Where they belong. I grab a handful of his hair to hold him in place. If he thinks I'm letting him get away, then he is sadly mistaken.

The head of my cock slides between his lips. This sudden heat borders on the divine. It's almost enough to make my knees buckle. I don't know how much more I can take, but I don't want this to end yet.

Slowly, Kane takes me into his mouth. The flesh of his lips scorching a path up my shaft. He doesn't pause until the tip touches the back of his throat. Even then he presses forward, grasping my hips as he struggles to consume my entire length. He retreats, only to surge upward again.

Having found his absolute limit, he holds me there. I am his prisoner, captivated by this beautiful man.

Kane… Kneeling before me… My cock down his throat and delirious lust clouding his eyes. Now _that's_ a Kodak moment.

Pulling back to stroke my saliva-slicked dick, he murmurs, "I love the way you taste… _So fucking good…_"

He sucks me in earnest. Back and forth. Sucking and slurping to his heart's content. Tongue swirling around the head, working the slit to collect my juices. His moans vibrate through my cock and up my spine. For Kane, there's pleasure simply in the act of giving.

I'm close now. Riding the brink. My balls tighten, ready to release their load. "I'm gonna come… God, Kane, you're gonna make me come…"

"Do it…" His lips whisper across the head of my cock as he strokes. "Do it… Give it to me… Shoot that fucking load in my mouth… _Give it to me…_"

One more deep, hard suck and I'm there. Bucking and spilling into his hot, perfect mouth. He milks my cock of every last drop. Once there's nothing left to give, he lets me slip from his lips. Smiling, he shows off his prize. A mouthful of my thick spunk. And then it's gone. Disappearing down his throat in a single gulp. A few pearly remnants cling to his tongue.

"I _fucking_ love you," I groan, stealing his earlier phrase.

"And don't you forget it." His voice is deep and rough. Like he just spent the better part of an hour screaming his head off as I pounded him from behind.

Now, that idea has merit…

He's on his feet in a flash and shoving me out of the room. "I'm gonna take a shower and then you're buying me dinner."

_What the fuck?!_

"Why the hell would I do that?"

That smug grin is on his lips again. And I can't help remembering what else was on them not five minutes ago. "Because I won and you lost and you love me so much I make you stutter."

"I do not stutter!"

"Wanna bet?"

**END**


End file.
